TERROR ALERT LEVEL:

This krep was posted:

February 2008
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28	29

Same guy, different krep...
Father Knows
Things About GOD

MEMBER OF...

Things to put in your head...

Friends...

Everyday reads...

Read on YOUR terms...

Read on THEIR terms...
Lileks
Dave Ramsey

Stuff for your ears...

Yes, I'm reading this now

What's in the CD?

Must Read(s):

 

Check it out...

My Amazon Wish List

All commentary Copyright Stonestead.com, 2007. No part may be reproduced without permission. All statements within are the express view of the author and not necessarily those of his employeer, his clergy, his spouse, his friends or even himself.

Well, today's a free day; a gift from a long-dead king who heeded the advice of his science advisors and rebuilt the calendar from the ground up based on our annual trip around the sun...

Nah - just joshin' ya'. We have a February 29th every 4 years because a rabid badger bit Wilfred Shakespeare's left ankle in 1867 and he wrote a play about a groundhog, (names changed to protect the guilty and all), that travels back in time, creating a tear in the space-time continuum and the play went over so well that President Millard Fillmore decided to honor it - but only once every four years.

Or something... Whatever. The real question is, what are you going to do with it?

As for the kids, well, they continue to grow and constantly find new ways to flummox us; we're going to have to stay on our toes, because they're all bloody geniuses. Each and every one of them. The good news for you guys (who care about this stuff) is that I'll have plenty of stories to share. The less-than-good-news (perhaps) is that I'm trying to keep the kid stories on the newspaper blog. It's something I'm doing for my own mental health and in an effort to further organize my life. If this costs me readers here, so be it. I've given up on the idea of being the Next Great Internet Thing; it's just not going to happen.

The other good news is that we've cleared space enough in the garage for The Wif to once again park her car in there. Why should that matter to you? Well, as you might imagine, one of the last boxes to get packed during our move contained computer hardware - since it was in use until the very last minute. As a result, it was one of the first things moved into the new place and was quickly buried by all of the rest of the krep that came from everywhere else.

Again, I hear you asking, "why aren't I reading Sherman's Lagoon instead of this krep?" and I can't blame you. But there's this: in that box of computer hardware was my webcam, which I've already deployed. From its current location I can get lovely shades of eggshell and hues of white but little more. I'll experiment with various placements and then decide to buy a much better model sometime around May, (watch for that).

The other good news is that the box also contained the power supply for our "old" printer; the one that has all the ports that accept various memory cards from a variety of sources. Including our camera's memory card. And the printer held the adapter. So for those of you keeping score at home, this means that I'll be able to update the kids' pics as early as tomorrow.

And it should be one heck of an update. I'm imagining 3 pages at a minimum. My only question for you would be, do you want to see current pics on the front page and work back towards the current timeline, or would you rather I post the older pics at front so you can click-through and see them grow, even if it violates protocol?

Let me know (you won't)...

J.O.T.W...

A fiberglass port-a-potty at Oshkosh with the message "I could have been a Glassair!" written on it?

"I would like to die in my sleep like my father did, not in screaming terror, like his passengers."

If God had meant man to fly, He would have given him tickets.

"Gravity always wins!"

You know you´re flying a Cessna when you have a bird strike it from behind!

747 on final approach at 1000' off the deck. First Officer asks Captain "Are you happy with the position of the landing gear, sir?" Captain reaches down, lowers the gear and lands safely.

Lost Cessna Pilot: "Big airport with a little Cessna 150 overhead, please identify yourself!"

Any Landing is a just controlled mid-air collision with a planet.

"I hate to wake up and find my co-pilot asleep"

(I include this as the latest reason I've found to hate the new house. Apparently, The Binkster agrees, since I can hear him hitting the walls via the monitor, even at this late hour. It's almost midnight and we're BOTH still awake. It says more on its own than I could possibly comment upon...)

I think I've figured out the democrats' immigration plan - which is really saying something, (if I may say so myself), because they almost never talk about the issue. Seriously, do any of you remember hearing anything from those two bozos regarding immigration? Aside from the fact that obama wants to give illegal immigrants drivers licenses and hillary doesn't know if she thinks that's a good idea or not. Maybe

So here's what I've figured out: everything on the left comes down to one of two issues - abortion or taxes - so assume that they're planning on controlling immigration via one of those issues, but which one? Well, since it's not possible to go back in time and abort those who cross our borders illegally in the present - yet - it has to be through taxes. But how will taxes on US citizens effect immigration? Read on, Grasshopper...

The dems are going to raise taxes on "the rich," (which they will then ludicrously define as those households making over $75K per year), and corporations. (If you doubt that just listen to them pant with lust when they talk about Exxon-Mobil's profits.) But a tax on "corporations" is a tax on citizens, so we'll be double-taxed.

You see, corporations don't pay taxes and they can't be made to. (That's an outrage! Corporations should pay the MOST taxes, those greedy bastards... They should pay taxes until they bleed from the ears! *BANG!* Thud. Thank you, unknown gunman.) Not only do corporations not pay taxes, they don't pay their phone bills, light bills or even their employees. (*BANG!* Just to be sure, sir. Thanks again.)

Taxes are a cost of doing business and like all those other costs they are passed on to the consumer (i.e. YOU) as part of the price of the item. So if you increase taxes on Exxon-Mobil, they will have to raise their prices to cover it and that means you will pay more for gas. If the dems increase taxes on car companies, you will pay more for a car, (it would inflate the market, so yes, you'd pay more for a used car as well). If they increase taxes on pencil companies you'll pay more for pencils, and so on.

If the corporations decide they don't want to raise prices they'll have to lower costs and the easiest way to do that is to decrease the size of their workforce. i.e., fire people or reduce hiring. (So much for looking out for the "little guy.") Additionally, an environment which is hostile to 'corporations' will not be friendly to any other businesses because they'll all fall into the higher taxes net.

And here's where it affects immigration; this is the greatest country on the planet. People flood here to work and provide a better life for their family and, yes, to get rich. There are still plenty of stories of people who come here with little more than the clothes on their back, start working as a clerk in a dry cleaners and end up owning the store years later.

So in a business-hostile environment those entrepreneurs won't be able to hire as many people, the immigrant won't be able to find work and he'll go home and tell his tale of woe. Word will spread that there's no opportunity in the Land of Opportunity and those people will end up staying in their own country. Brilliant!

How on EARTH did we get here? I mean, as a country. Seriously -- how did we get to the point where so many people seem to be completely and utterly ignorant about - and sometimes downright hostile towards - profits? I want Exxon-Mobil to make profits and LOTS of 'em. I want drug companies to make billions of dollars year after year so I can continue to take the medications that will help me live long enough to see my grandchildren.

I want Ford and Chevy and Kia and Honda not only to thrive but to compete against each other in a free market. Competition breeds excellence, after all and if there's something this country needs at the moment, it's excellence. I'm not one of those morons out there who decry the fact that people who have decided to produce a product for a profit have grouped together under the legal umbrella of a "corporation."

And neither should the rest of you bother with it. But not for that reason...

Here's a few I banged off in my free time, (yeah, sure), that I thought I'd share...

McCain: Because you could get hillary otherwise.

Obama: Who else would guilty white men vote for?

Hillary: Who else would guilty white men vote for?

Hillary: Because Woodrow Wilson didn't even know the meaning of "shrill..."

Obama: It's time for a guy with dark skin who was raised by his white kin to be in control.

McCain: Because Grandpa's busy in the garage.

Hillary: NOBODY'S tired of the clinton's...

Obama: He's got to learn somewhere.

Hillary: Eight more years -- what could be the harm?

Obama: I'll be the changeist MF what ever changed the change that forced hope upon the American States of change to hope for better change of hope that we've ever seen. Just ask my supporters...

(NOTE: For those of you who couldn't give a krep about these hour-by-hour updates of my personal life - the audience - don't worry; you'll be getting the abridged version because there's something else I'd like to get to, if I can.)

OK, so we finish a hearty breakfast (at 10:30, meaning lunch will be a cheese stick and two crackers), on Saturday and start about our day. I shower and then get the privilege of going to my sister's house to retrieve the last of our belongings stored there and sweep out the garage. I load up and realize that I've forgotten the broom.

I go home, unload and realize that I've lost the broom. Quick bite to eat and then it's out to Wally World to buy a broom, a small snow shovel, gloves and trash bags. As I start the job, I call Outback and get a "seating time," (we'd call it a "reservation" - those crazy Aussies), and plan on following up with tickets to see "Jumper" afterwards.

As I'm finishing up I get a call from The Wif. Since she'll be taking the kids to Grandma's tonight I imagined she was calling to tell me that they were on their way. No such luck: she's calling to tell me that D-Man has been a Holy terror and the deal they struck was that in order to go to Grandma's he'd need to be good.

So he won't be going tonight, and neither will we...

I call Outback to cancel and am suddenly thankful for my procrastination at buying the movie tickets. I might have been out $42.50, and who wants that? Upon arriving home I notify D-Man of his status, "you're staying home, young man!", and after negotiations with The Wif in an undisclosed location, we come to an agreement: I agree to what The Wif says should happen.

Namely, D-Man will stay home this Saturday night as his siblings go to GaMa/GaPaw's for a sleep-over with most of their cousins. This is in accordance with the previously-mentioned agreement: behave and you get to go. Act like an animal and you'll have to stay.

But it also completely lays waste to my plans of dinner and a movie with The Wif. (So much so that I learn from her that this would be the first time such plans would have come together. Turns out that we've been out to dinner, and we've gone to see a movie. We've just never done the two of them together in the same night. Shame on me.) I mean, if you're planning a romantic/exciting evening, nothing acts so much as a spoiler as bringing a 3-year-old along.

Even if he eats well more than his weight at the buffet. Even if he consumes the entire Tenderloin you've chosen for him. Even if he never utters a single syllable throughout the meal: YOU KNOW he's there and it changes everything:

All you have to remember is to get everyone home before Vampire-Fall, (9:00PM, MST), and then put everyone in bed within the hour.

Everything else takes care of itself...

What a weekend to forget. Well, not really; I hope I remember what I learned today (Sunday), but hopefully we'll get to that...

Friday was my day off - a time to sleep until 9:00 and wake to the adoration of The Wif and my sons, ("M" would be in school). It's a great plan and a wonderful day when it happens. Unfortunately, it did not happen. "Remember that I have a doctor's appointment at 8:15" was all it took to shatter the otherwise great ideal the day promised.

OK, no big deal. I've dealt with kids before - even the three under this roof. I can do this...

The Wif concedes several points to my (then) illness and decides that she can wake up "M" and feed her before I have to get up. She also agrees to wake, dress and feed the boys before I'm expected downstairs. (What a gal - ed.) In the meantime, I'm calculating how much longer I can sleep, which wasn't exactly her intent, but if she doesn't know me by know I'm really going to lean on that whole caveat emptor thing.

I get up, get dressed, (another HUGE drawback of this circumstance), and dive into my duty: VITAMINS! BACON! SHOES! COATS! as we see Mommy off - a mere 18 minutes late. If only she trusted my parenting abilities more, she might be on time. Then again, if she trusted me as a parent, I couldn't have slept that extra half-hour.

Some of you out there should be taking notes by now. Just sayin'...

Well, the kids get locked into place and "M" gets to school on time. The boys go to run around at the park and Daddy gets to find a whole new level of stress because he can't see both of them at the same time. Remembering his geometry, (or perhaps it was billiards), he creates triangles between the three of them in order to keep track of D and The Binkster. Everyone returns home safely.

After we pick up "M" from school, we return to the park only to find that there is no reasonable, real-world, kid-friendly way to form a square, (the logical geometrical shape for the increased number of children), in order to monitor the children. I also learn that there is no standing between a 2 year old and his desire to put pea gravel into his mouth. Don't even try. The best you can do is to make a game of spitting them out with him.

And they all slept soundly that night. Thus ends Friday...

On Saturday, I was promised that sleep in time I missed the previous day. Of course I got it, but on the condition that I listen to The Wif's tales about the movie she watched at 2:00 as she crawled into bed at 5:00. ("Uh-huh") She then added insult to perjury by throwing an arm around me - not something I'd normally object to - and then promptly starting to twitch and snore.

Now, she could sleep through a hurricane in the middle of the gulf on a 4X4. But every time she twitched, snored, rolled. moved, stroked, scratched or welcomed a cat onboard, I woke up. It was not pleasant.

But eventually the family was united on a single floor and ready for "Daddy breakfast." Which, oddly enough is french toast, (no letters, please). And the kids LOVE IT! Each child eats nearly half their body weight in my french toast, every time it's offered. This was no exception. And then things took a turn for the worse.

I have to stop the story here. "To Be Continued" seems so lame, but what else is there?

OK, (some of) you asked for this. Please keep that in mind as we continue...

Wednesday, elevenish in the morning and I'm on the phone waiting for a call to start (see below). It doesn't and I decide to go for an early lunch; Chick-fil-A' as a rare treat. I return to the office and not long after notice that my stomach is seemingly rejecting the chicken, (OMG - that's what we're having tonight! If you don't hear from me for a while somebody please check in - if only to make sure our bodies aren't being devoured by the dogs; I'm planning on an open coffin), and I'm feeling the slight pangs of discomfort on the far end of my gullet; swelling, slight stirring, the beginnings of a lawsuit...

By the time I got home I felt as if my spleen and liver had teamed up to put pressure on my stomach and I was getting hints that my gut wanted to empty. Now, I HATE to vomit. No, wait, that should be I. AM. LOATHE. to vomit. Knowing me, it's probably just because - if only for a minute or two - I have lost control of a part of myself. I can't even begin to tell you the last time I puked. Well, Wednesday, but I'll get to that.

I was able to maintain control on the ride home and during several "attacks" and was thinking that I was going to be OK. Then, right as we were sitting down to dinner my stomach started to convulse with renewed vigor. I stood there fighting it, but it was becoming apparent I was going to blow chunks. I considered rounding the corner to the bathroom but I guess I was frozen by denial. So when my stomach erupted and I started to heave my cookies with such shocking force I started running toward the sink as fast as I could and still keep my mouth shut.

I was over a yard away when the eruption occcurred and almost didn't make it. Knowing physics as well as I do, at the moment I could no longer keep my mouth shut I also angled my chin upward, changing the trajectory enough to limit my misses considerably. The result was a glorious food rainbow that arced beautifully into the sink. It didn't feel so glorious at the time, natch.

Several more convulsions followed and just as I was beginning to feel like Mr. Creosote things started to calm down a bit. Noticing that the action had slowed/stopped, D-Man immediately asked, "what you doin', Daddy?" "Puking my brains out," to which he only replied, "Nooo," in his most sarcastic (yet) tone. The Binkster asked, "happen. Daddy?" "Daddy's sick."

Once things had calmed down I cleaned up the sink, (what a trooper), and then went to sit at the table. The Wif had moved to my seat (further from the sink), and she and "M" were looking at me as if an alien spawn had just ripped through my chest. Maybe one had - I was busy at the time and haven't checked yet. Kinda felt like that at the time, actually.

So I basically went to bed earlyish and without dinner. After a sleepless night I awoke feeling rather like that which I cleaned from the sink, looked. But at least the pressure in my gut started to ease at about 3:00AM - after a rather earnest prayer. I'm not going to say I'm over whatever this is, but I'm going to say that I did get to eat dinner.

Grilled cheese sandwich. I skipped the sour cream and onion chips.

Sorry about that whole "not writing forever" thing, but we've got more bugs around here than a CSI lab, if you know what I mean; The Wif is just getting over a serious sinus infection that kept promising to lay her low, my gut has been experimenting with new and interesting ways to use reverse -- Hell, even one of our cats has some sort of bug that has her leaving us bloody little surprises throughout the house. The best part is, we're not even sure which cat it is, so we have to separate them and collect poop samples to go to the vet.

Rest assured, that is NOT my job...

Ah, but IS my job? Well, in talking about actual, paid work I got a generous example of what my job is just today. There came notice of a conference call scheduled from on-high. At the appointed hour the other peons and I called into the number and drew up the call. Now, please tell me which is more pathetic - the fact that the DC bigwigs couldn't be bothered to bring a phone to their meeting, or the fact that me and about 2 dozen other morons waited for them to do so, FOR FORTY BLOODY MINUTES!!

For some reason that incident seemed the nearly-perfect metaphor for my Federal career. Just need to add something about the quality of lowest-bid contracting and all the forms that you need to fill out in order to sharpen a pencil and I think we'd have it.

The call has been re-scheduled for this morning. Let's see who shows up and if they bring a phone. The stupidity! It burns!!

You know how sometimes you see minor injustices going on and you just think, "I hope that jerk gets his?" Walk with me and let me share a story...

Since I grew up in the area where my kids are growing up I know the roads quite well, (Got speeding tickets on most of them, actually). As such, if a road is backed up or lined with orange cones - or both - I can change and adjust my commute quite easily, usually. Well, the other day I was stuck in a line of traffic that was longer than it looked at first. Backed up for miles, quite literally bumper-to-bumper.

As I was about half-way through I saw a car pass me on the left - in the turn lane, of course, because he was apparently going to turn left at the next street, right? Well, he didn't. He kept on going so I thought he would turn at the following street, a street he sailed right past. This jerk was using the turn lane as his private street! He wasn't planning on turning until he had to! The nerve!

Well, as you may have guessed, he did indeed get his: he was confronted with 2 vehicles in the turn lane looking to cross the full lanes this bozo was trying to avoid - Perfect! And since the lanes were full, they couldn't get across, so this guy was stalled there until they - and whomever might arrive in that time - made their turns. He may still be there for all I know.

Ahhhh...

I think most of you know that I'm a space/science/technology nerd, so it will not surprise you to learn that I really enjoyed following the story of the successful mission to shoot down that failing satellite. It's so cool to live in a time when such a thing is possible - and they didn't even need Aerosmith and Bruce Willis to do it!

Of course, there is a political angle to the story as well; Reagan's Space Defense Initiative was not only possible, but an excellent idea. We've just seen the proof.

Actually, there's a second political portion of the story as well. Is it possible that some barking moonbat will suggest that the satellite "had" to be shot down because it contained the definitive proof that "Bush was behind 9/11" or that it "contained the blueprints for building 7?" I mean, it was a spy satellite, man....

I'd be surprised if someone HASN'T suggested it already.

I'm busy, broken and confused and for reasons you cannot possibly imagine: I have a cut on the back of my left hand and one on the palm of my right, if only because I wasn't trying to avoid them in the first place, I suppose. See, it's like this...

Grandma took the kids' this weekend, so I was left to wander the house naked until the neighbors called the police to report that we were being robbed by two men with a collection of marbles in a bag. but that's probaly something I imagined, because who in the world would even know what marbles are any more, much less keep a collection of shooters, lest the neighbors report you for such a thing...

Which is our way of saying, "Happy presidents's day," and may many more grace your stoop....

A guy walks into a post office one day to see a middle-aged, balding man standing at the counter methodically placing "Love" stamps on bright pink envelopes with hearts all over them. He then takes out a perfume bottle and starts spraying scent all over them.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he goes up to the balding man and asks him what he is doing. The man says, "I'm sending out one thousand Valentine cards signed, 'Guess who?'"

"But why?" asks the man.

"I'm a divorce lawyer."

...And I bet he did enough business to retire before he was forty...

OK, aside from the fact that this title was obviously written by Frosty the Animated Seasonal Frozen Moisture Creature, I'd still like to take a moment to send my best wishes for a happy Guilt-Laden Mid-Winter Empty-Gestured Excuse To Waste Money On Flowers Day to all the men out there. And to say that I hope - for your sake - that you remembered to order flowers. Or buy jewelry. If not, it may be too late to save your skin.

You can probably save the relationship, (providing getting rid of her wasn't your goal in the first place), but it's going to cost you; My advice? Try taking her out to dinner, but good luck getting into a nice place at this point. You could pick up a chick flick on the way home from the office and tell her you've "planned" a quiet night at home together, but that only works if you've done it before and you have no children.

And here's where having kids tends to make life easier (and the ONLY situation in which I can think that's true). If you have forgotten to make arrangements for Valentine's Day, AND you have children, try this: When you arrive home, tell your lovely Bride that you're very, very sorry, because things aren't going to happen like you've planned. You had arranged for a sitter, got reservations at Chez Xpenzive and had hoped to take her to the latest Julia Roberts film playing down at that art house in the bum district that everyone speaks so highly of - just so you'd be able to say that you've been there.

But, just as you were on your way to the florist to pick up the corsage you ordered 3 weeks ago, you got a call on your cell saying that the sitter had to cancel, but she wasn't real specific on why - probably "woman trouble," you guess (this part is VITAL!). As a result, you skipped the corsage, (because why have it around for the kids to destroy or to be eaten by the dogs?), canceled your reservations and rushed home to explain what had happened.

Apologize profusely, tell her you'll make it up to her, (again - VITAL), and change an extra diaper or two or help with dinner more than you normally would. Apologize again before you go to bed and if things are going well you might joke about how, 'it's the thought that counts,' (experts only).

However, for this to work, follow-up is crucial. You WILL need to make it up to her, (as promised), and you need to get to the babysitter as quickly as possible. Give her the back story, tell her to tell your Wif whatever she wants as the reason for the "cancellation" and slip her 100 bucks. Sure it's twice what she would have earned for an evening's work, but if she can double her income while NOT tending to your little brats, you've got an alibi well into the future...

And then run out and buy a stash of diamond-incrusted jewelry to keep around the house for just these occasions. It's much easier, even if you have to remember where you hid the stuff in order to dispense them at appropriate times. Sure your Wif will find them - because she knows the house and it's hiding places far better than you ever will - but it's the first step in creating a "priceless Holiday."

Even if she already has an idea what she's getting...

Well, I'm feeling somewhat pimped out at the moment - to which those familiar with the title can attest: Broke, sticky and confused. And old punch-line from a long-dead comic, but little could be closer to the truth right now...

When you begin adoption proceedings you learn that you'll be faced with 3 major milestones along the way: Matching, Presentation and Subsidy. Matching is where a group of people who know neither you nor the kids will decide if you're best for each other. We've been through that.

Presentation is where the Social worker spends the 45 minutes between Matching and her next in-home visit sharing the kids' folder with the adoptive parents. You're then allowed to read everything you can - from roughly 4,800 pages - in that time. We've been through that.

Subsidy - and forgive me for not using quotes where they should otherwise be deployed - is where the summary of the summary of the kids' case is reviewed and the county employee then suggests that the kids remain on medicaid, (no matter where you live or move), and that the adoptive parents receive the maximum possible reimbursement per child per day, (on a monthly basis).

A brief aside, because I can: I know when a woman is pregnant. I just do. I'm not going to reveal my secrets on detecting that not-so-little fact but I will say that I can only detect it after the woman knows it herself, (which is kind of tipping my hat but I still have faith in my abilities, so I'll let it pass). Anyway, I told The Wif last week (during her visit here), that the kids' Social Worker was pregnant. She looked at me like I'd just announced I had bought vacation property on the dark side of Mars.

Man, oh man. I know I've done a lot of bloviating about how much my life has changed with the arrival of children, and that's for two reasons: my life has changed quite a bit, and, my life changed much, much more than I expected it to.

And we didn't go into this with rose-colored glasses, either; we talked about it before hand, discussed and speculated how we would do this or that differently. I mean, I expected some surprises along the way, but I guess I thought of them happening from time-to-time, rather than just completely jacking the baseline. Maybe that was naive on my part, but how do you imagine the future - with complete accuracy?

Worse yet, the stuff just keeps changing in ways that seem impossible to account for. For example, I keep thinking that once the boys "reach a certain point" that life will be slower, easier. And as those points pass I learn that we've simply moved into a new paradigm, instead of an easier life. And as "M" ages she's much more of a help around the house, which is - well, a huge help obviously - but it also means that we're looking into dance schools and karate classes and soccer leagues, (G-d help me), and music lessons and all other sorts of things that point to me spending a great deal of time in the cab of my truck.

On the other hand, I should finally be able to do a lot more reading as I wind those minutes away in the truck. Unless I decide to start arguing with flagpoles. (Sorry, "Most Evil" is on the tube. But go ahead and Google that phrase if you want the explanation.)

So it's not like I went into this expectation-free; not by a long shot. I just walked away with so many surprises that left my head shaking. Namely: you guys cannot believe the incredible load O' guilt I carry upstairs with me when I pull a yesterday. That is, when it's suddenly 11:48 and I still have to do my nasal wash, (I believe I've written about that before), and write something here before I go to sleep.

And then I realize that I only have time for one of those before I hit the sheets, and decide in favor of the option that will help me to breathe tomorrow.

My bad.

But seriously, you guys have no idea of the choices and the things that lie before us - even as the process grinds to an end. It's something to behold, frankly, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but now wish that everyone would at least foster and at most adopt children.

There are so many of them out there -- in need, right now -- that every adult in this country should step up and join the cause.

That might otherwise be my new pursuit, except for the fact that I'm not eloquent enough to represent the cause properly.

Still...

I gotta tell ya' - television has come a long way since its birth. I think we all know that, but I also think it may be the reason I'm so enamored of the game shows from the 1970's. I mean, in a time when things were inexplicably overly-brown - the clothes, the furniture, the paneling - and when hippies were starting to roam the streets without fear of getting their butts kicked, there was this vast, great refuge of sanity where people came as they were, answered questions or preformed silly stunts and walked away with prizes! What a great idea!

I mean, what could be better for such dismal times than uplifting games with plenty of lights where even the losers walk away with prizes? Proof that there's good to be found even in bad times.

Flash forward 30-plus years and any intelligent analysis would conclude that we're now living in a rather uplifting time where the media is mostly focusing on our dark side and exploiting it to their own advantage. And the losers? Well that's us. And we ain't walking away with a case of Turtle Wax...

By way of general example, I could point to so-called, "reality" TV in general, and would just on principle. But that's not enough. It's not specific enough, that is. So I give you "Cheaters" as the perfect example of just how degrading television has become.

If you're not familiar - as I hope is the case - with the show, it features a team of "sleuths" who are basically guns-for-hire as they go around investigating spouses who are suspected of infildelity. It should come as no surprise that the catalyst behind these episodes are the suspicious spouses themselves...

But don't be confused: I'm not saying that suspicious spouses should remain powerless in their fear of what they already know in their hearts. Not at all; in a certain sense they should be able to go to a low-cost (READ: 'free') service to have this fear either confirmed or dismissed, (in MY world, that means if they turn out to be right, there's no charge. If they were wrong, "...and here's the bill"), and in that "certain sense" should be the caveat that no gubermint influence should impose upon the otherwise free market influence taking place in all of this.

All that being said, the show is a "best-of" reel of the lowest of the lowest of human behavior. Kind of. It goes like this: a suspicious partner calls the show, presents the evidence and eventually a team responds. They send out investigators, who - with the full cooperation of the partner who dropped the dime - arrange a stakeout on the subject in question, deploying the most hi-tech equipment available at the moment.

Eventually, the cheater is "caught" in the act and the big confrontation takes place. There's usually violence and anger and pain and retribution and at least a shaking of the foundations of the relationship. Hell, it's the show's Mission Statement, (and believe me, those words would NEVER be capitalized here unless it meant something different this time).

As the show ends, we learn the conclusion (obviously) and from what little I've seen, it's rarely pretty; things like, "you'll never see the kids again!" and, "all your stuff? uh-uh. Not any more!" and the like seem to be the standard fare. It's humiliating to at least one of the people involved, and maybe all three, depending on when the crew decides to spring the trap. And for some mysterious reason, they seem only to deploy when all 3 parties are in the shot. Funny that.

Now, lest anyone out there think that I'm coming from a purely Puritanical point of view on this, let me just say that there was a point in my life when I would pursue anything in a skirt (and would succeed in my "mission" nearly as often as not), and I was finally convinced otherwise not by an offended Scotsman, but by the fact that I realized I had to grow up. I had to commit to a/ONE woman and a way of life that - while it might seem foreign to my previous ways - was right for me.

Eventually I did just that, and I'm all the happier for it. Sure I'm certain to get some form of poop from some form of animal on my hands at one point or another in this life I've chosen, but it's the mission I signed on for. Apparently.

As for CHEATERS, don't bother trying to get on the show; it's far too easy to do so and you damage far too many lives in the audition. Trust me...

 :

J.O.T.W...

HA! (If you only knew)

Gladys was a pastor's wife and went with him to church every Sunday. One Sunday the sermon was particularly long; some people were getting sleepy. When the pastor finally ended the service, his wife went over to one of the gentlemen who had fallen asleep, and in an effort to help him wake up, she expended her hand and said: "Hello, I'm Gladys Dunn."

The man replied: "Lady, you're not the only one."

There's a lot in life to be thankful for and I'm convinced that if you can appreciate that fact, you'll be a much happier person. And yes, this post is being co-authored by Captain Obvious - just in case you were wondering.

But aside from the big stuff - family, friends, not being bitten in the groin by your neighbor's dog every time you leave the house - I'm thankful for my love of minutiae. You know, trivial little details you learn along the way that make you go, "huh - that's interesting." And because I do love learning those sorts of things, I'm eternally grateful for the Internet, for if ever there was a place to get absolutely lost in weird little facts, this is it.

One of the things I really like to do is to visit a famous person's Wikipedia page, learn strange little factoids about them and see where the various links take me. If you're not careful, you could lose several hours of your life in this pursuit, so take precautions; set an alarm or something.

(And for the record, I prefer historical figures to any of today's flavors O' the week, although early Hollyweird starlets can be quite interesting, too.)

Another way I fully maximize my web experience is to avoid reading this site to do quick lookups on some of the shows I enjoy watching; Twilight Zone, old game shows, Simpson's episodes, stuff like that. It's how I discovered that two guys who acted together only twice in 19 years, died of the same thing, and only 3 days apart.

It fascinates me, frankly. It's the kind of thing that makes me wonder if Simon heard the news of Mike's death and thought, 'that's a shame. Nice guy - worked with him in something...'

Of course without the Internet's presence, it's pretty unlikely that the rather-routine death of a character actor in New York would make the news, much less travel all the way to California in those 3 days. Unless they had the same agent, I suppose. But if that were true, they probably would have worked together more often.

See what I mean?!? It boggles the mind.

Another thing you could find on the Internet, if so inclined, is this. Seems like a run of the mill house fire, and it is -- except around here. See, I've been in that house. Not in it's current condition, mind you, but I've spent several hours in there; whether at the dinner table, watching Broncos games on TV or discussing current events in the family room. Hell - that's where The Wif and I announced that our Due Date was January 1, 2000, (someone else had other plans, but you all know that).

I personally removed close to 3 metric tonnes of cardboard boxes from the garage, even. I know for a fact how lucky that entire block is, because the city-supplied gas-powered street light leaked from the ground source. And it was well within the distance of these flames; just imagine how bad this fire might have been if the lamp were still there.

Yes, I know this house - or knew it - because The Wif grew up there. Her family moved in when she was nine and she moved out when she went to college -- moved back in briefly after flunking out her first semester -- and we visited it often after we were married. I'm sure the kitty-cat wallpaper in her former bedroom and the '1776' wallpaper in the downstairs were gone long before last night.

But now, so is the house. She's handling it strangely and we'll have to see what happens; right now, she's talking about driving up there and taking pictures. I'm sure that's just a beginning position and today and tomorrow will see phone calls and emails from her long-time friends who spent more time in the house than I did. Who knows? This may end with a "Burning Down The House" party.

They were all fans of The Talking Heads, after all...

Well, well. Quite the Super Bowl, eh? I would've written about it for yesterday - as it should have been - but I was too exasperated after the big finish. Well, that and a bit shaken after being on the receiving end of a very serious tirade from D-Man. You haven't been yelled at until you've seen the fury of a 3 year old who knows that his diaper change is going to hurt and you're going to do it anyway. Trust me.

So, in the closing minutes of the game as things were (finally) getting interesting, I learn that D-Man has poop half-way up his back and he want anyone but me to change him. It was a little distracting but I managed to catch the high points as they unfolded. Impressive comeback, no?

I didn't write anything about it beforehand, but I always suspected that New York would pull off the upset and for several reasons: Trying to go undefeated throughout an entire season puts an awful lot of pressure on that last game; Never bet against a Manning; and we've seen that sort of Patriot hype before. One decade ago, to be exact...

Denver fans will recall that in the days leading up to XXXII the media, the sports writers, the fans - everyone - had already written the Broncos off. It was a done deal, Green Bay was just too fast, too strong, too clever for Denver and there wasn't even a point in Denver taking the field. Same thing this year with the Patriots. And the underdog bit 'em on the butt each time.

(I just noticed a curious thing in making sure I got my roman numerals correct: Denver was in Superbowls XII, XXII and XXXII. Looks like we'll need to wait another ten years for our next run at the ring.)

And in other news, today is Super-Duper-Uber-Hyper-Tuesday as far as the Presidential election is concerned and I'm a bit out of sorts over it. john mccain is being hyped as 'unbeatable' in the primaries by the very people who hope he loses the election!! I simply don't understand why more people in my party can't see that and it's very frustrating, frankly. Otherwise marginally intelligent people who just follow whatever the television tells them. Either that or they're just looking to hop on a bandwagon.

Sheep, I tells ya.

But again, if mccain is as 'unbeatable' as the Patriots were, maybe there's some small glimmer of hope to be had yet...

Sure, sure; it's the biggest day in the National Football League's season. That's a given. And of course I'd planned on parking my pink arse in my Com-A-Man chair and catching the entire game - and every commercial, (for they have become at least as important as the game) - as it/they happened. Well, it should go without saying that those of my plans went the way of my other plans; flushed away.

And in this case, quite literally...

Rather out-of-the-blue on Saturday, D-Man finally decided to go 'Poopy-potty.' It was a respectable, well-formed deposit that was announced by The Wif screaming out-loud as if someone was removing her skin inch-by-inch. By design. Her design.

And this event led to a "poop party" on Sunday. If you're not familiar with the idea of a "poop party," then you're not only childless, but you have no young children in your lives, do not work in anything relating to the child care industry and have not read a single sentence from any of the "What to expect" series of books.

All the same, D-Man pooped in the potty and we're somehow - according to someone - expected to have a celebration in name of the event.

Well, The Wif invited my folks to come to the "poop party" which is more than acceptable, frankly. I wouldn't choose to live with them, but only because I know what that does to a relationship: Otherwise, I'd have them in the area, zip code, neighborhood and next door if it came to that.

So at 4:26 this afternoon we had cake. And ice cream. All because a 3-year-old decided at last to poopy in the potty. Sure it's lame. Of course it's lame. But my son has somehow set his course in life, (crapping in a toilet instead of his diaper), with this single event that he already seems intent upon NEVER repeating.

My first-born son. I love him to death, but he may yet be the death of me...

This is the only time I actually hate looking at a Friday. The problem about starting a month on a Friday - as far as this weblog is concerned - is the calendar and the attendant clearing of the previous data, both of which have to be done on a Thursday night and my Thursday's are now used to being filled with fun and frolic, whim and whimsy...

OK. So I'm lying out of my echo chamber, but at least you all recognize when that happens around here. So that's kind of a wash, in a weird sort of way.

Just so you know, I'm still waiting on the update as to the cabinet issue. Well, it's only been a day since you've heard about it, so OF COURSE I'm still waiting for an answer. It doesn't matter that this has been months in MY pipeline and only hours in yours. The fact is, I'm likely to retire before a suitable, policy-acceptable answer is arrived at.

And even then, I'll be long gone before it's delivered. It's the beauty of the system. But at least there's a system, right?

J.O.T.W...

After his death, the lawyer found himself with the devil in a room filled with clocks. Each clock turned at a different speed and was labeled with the name of a different occupation.

After examining all the clocks, the lawyer turned to the devil and said, "I have two questions. First, why does each clock move at a different speed?"

"They turn at the rate at which the members of that occupation collectively sin on earth," replied the devil.

"What's your second question?"

"Well," said the lawyer. "I can't seem to find my occupation. Where is the 'lawyers' clock?"

he devil momentarily looked confused, and he started checking the clocks. "They should all be here," he muttered, looking frantically, "It has to be here somewhere... Oh, there will be Hell to pay for this."

Suddenly, the devil relaxed, slapped himself on the forehead, and exclaimed, "Oh, yes! How silly of me. We keep that clock in the workshop and use it for a fan."